


Improvised Explosive Device

by Gnomeskillet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gore, Human Genji Shimada, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Surgery, background Gency, cyborg junkrat au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10967376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnomeskillet/pseuds/Gnomeskillet
Summary: Jamison only took the job because it was the fastest way out of Junkertown. It was supposed to be easy; he sets off a few minor explosions to cause a distraction, then Roadhog and the crew stop the armored car and make off with the jewels during the chaos. But everything goes sideways when Jamison gets caught in one of his own explosions, and only an Overwatch agent is there to scrape him off the pavement. A series of intense operations give him a second chance at life, but he's not really sure he wants it.





	Improvised Explosive Device

Grooooaaaaaaaaan. Jamison Fawkes regained consciousness feeling like he’d been hit by a bus. More likely, he’d been caught in one of his own explosions, but since he wasn’t bleeding out on the pavement, he couldn’t be sure. The persistent beeping filling his ears and bright lights burning through his eyelids said hospital, but who the fuck cared enough about him to bring him to a hospital?

 He couldn’t feel his arms. Or his legs. Breathing hurt. Maybe he was experiencing sleep paralysis?

 A shadow passed over his eyes, and he reluctantly cracked them open, only to be greeted by the grinning visage of an Asian man with neon green hair. His grin only grew wider as Jamison let out a grumble of annoyance. Not sleep paralysis then; his imagination wasn’t spiteful enough to come up with something that obnoxious looking, he was pretty sure.

 “Oh good, you are awake!” the man chirped, pressing a hand to Jamison’s shoulder as he turned away, as if he intended to hold Jamison down if he tried to sit up. Ha! As if. Everything he could feel was too sore to want to move, and anyway, his head was more or less strapped in place by a breathing mask. No, Jamison had absolutely no desire to try moving just yet. “Angela, he’s awake! And cranky looking…”

 Of course he was cranky looking! He had a tube shoved down his throat, and another one shoved up his dick. Who wouldn’t be cranky about that?

 “Oh, thank goodness for that,” a tired, but melodic voice replied, and the man shuffled to the side to make room for a tired, but beautiful blond woman. “I am Doctor Angela Ziegler. You have been unconscious for nearly a week. If you had slept for any longer, I would have worried that you’d slip into a coma!”

 He could tell she was trying to inject some cheer and good humor into the situation, but Jamison wasn’t having it. He wanted the tubes out, and he wanted some answers, so he gurgled irritably at her, causing her to duck her head and cover her mouth to hide a chuckle.

 “Yes, we’ll get those out of you in just a moment!” She turned to the man, giving him a warm smile and touching his shoulder. “Genji, could you run to the mess hall and make us a pot of tea? I think we will all feel better with something warm in our stomachs.”

 The man - Genji - must have noticed the way Jamison’s eyes lit up at the mention of tea because he flashed a smile and chuckled before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the doctor’s cheek. “Of course, Angela. Anything for you.”

 And then he was gone, bolting off across the room like a jackrabbit. Something about his movements seemed familiar, but the ghost memory was wiped from Jamison’s mind as Dr. Ziegler leaned over him, unhooking the breathing mask from his face. It tugged on the tube a little, making him gag, but then Dr. Ziegler was speaking, drawing his attention away from his physical state.

“You are in the infirmary of the Overwatch Swiss headquarters,” she explained, helping him sit up and sticking a few additional pillows behind his head for support. With Genji gone, she looked even more tired than before, as if she was keeping up the perky facade just for him. “There was… an incident during an otherwise routine mission, and you were caught in the crossfire. Apparently, some terrorists appeared halfway through operations and started causing trouble.”

 They weren’t terrorists, they were _thieves_ , thank you very little. A very large, very rare, very _priceless_ jewel was being transferred from a private collection to a museum, and Jamison’s crew have been trying to intercept the armored vehicle carrying it when the job went sideways. Unknowingly wandering into the operation of Overwatch agents certainly explained why they were suddenly swarmed by security. What rotten luck, and on his first job too! Roadhog wasn’t going to be pleased with him, if he was still out there. If he still cared.

 Best not to mention any of that to Dr. Ziegler, not that he could if he wanted to at the moment. In the eyes of Overwatch, being a thief was likely better than being a terrorist, but only by a small margin.

 “There was an explosion,” she continued, rolling up her sleeves and pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves. “Genji found you amid the rubble during the aftermath. He’s holding himself personally accountable for your recovery.”

 She shook her head with a small, fond smile and a chuckle, then leaned over, gently grasping the end of the tube that stuck out of his mouth. “I am going to need you to cough as I pull this out. This will be very uncomfortable, and you will feel like gagging, but I will try to make it as quick as possible, okay?”

 He already felt like gagging, but sure, he could do that. He nodded to the doctor, and she flashed a reassuring smile. “Alright, on the count of three… one… two…”

 She started to pull, and he started to cough and it was probably the worst thing he’d ever experienced in his life. Even being crushed under rubble wasn’t this awful (not that he remembered being crushed by rubble). Reflexively, he reached up to grab her arms, but he found himself failing _because he didn’t have any arms._ They cut off right below his elbow, and the bandages were a little bit red and _bloody oath it was no wonder he couldn’t feel his arms he didn’t have any oh fuck did this mean he didn’t have any legs either holy shit holy shit holy shit-_

 As panic welled up in his mind, he didn’t just start to gag, he started to choke. His throat felt like it was sealing up around the tube, and he could feel it scraping against the inside of his esophagus. Dr. Ziegler was saying something, someone was stroking his back, but he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was the stumps of his arms and how hard it was to breathe and he was starting to feel bile rise up in his throat, oh god he was going to throw up, and he was certain he was going to die like this.

 Then the tube popped out of his mouth, the end clacking painfully against his teeth, and he automatically rolled onto his side, coughing and gasping for breath as alarms on machines blared around him and his vision went black around the edges. Each breath was more ragged than the last, and he swore he could taste blood. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

 ---

 The next time Jamison regained consciousness, he was hooked up to even more machines than before. He was propped upright, strapped to a chair, and his neck was in a brace. Breathing seemed to happen whether he wanted it to or not, and Dr. Ziegler’s tired, beautiful face smiled at him sadly.

 “I am afraid we need you awake for this next part,” she apologized, reaching out to brush her hand over his head. He could feel panic welling up again, and he automatically flinched away, but her hand was soft and her touch gentle, which helped a little bit. At least that tube wasn’t in his throat anymore.

 Closing his eyes, he licked his lips, letting himself take a few breaths before looking up at her and trying his voice.

 “What part, doc?” he asked, his voice sounding strangely tinny, like he was speaking through a microphone. He frowned at the sound of it; he knew his voice was bound to be rough from the tube and what have you, but something seemed off.

 Dr. Ziegler’s expression fell as she sighed, her thumb brushing over his forehead. “Brain surgery.”

 “Brain surgery?” he asked, his voice hitching nervously. Why did he need brain surgery? Sure, he’d passed out a few times (for quite a long while, admittedly), and apparently, he was missing a few limbs, but he felt that _hardly_ warranted **brain surgery**.

 “Today, we’re installing the interface for your prosthetics. It’s a little net that will go over your brain with a small plate that will sit at the base of your skull. The plate will act as a switch for the prosthetics, taking in all the feedback and sensory data from them and converting it into an impulse your brain will be able to interpret. This will allow you to have full, natural control over your limbs,” she explained, her tone perfunctory and clinical. Then she forced her lips up into a smile, adding cheerfully, “Das ist der Hammer, ja?”

 That was absolutely NOT the hammer. It was as far from the hammer as it got. He didn’t even know what the hammer meant, but he knew he did NOT like what she was telling him. “What the hell kinda prosthetics are you even installing that need something like that?”

 “Well, it’s a bit more about what we’ve already installed,” she said, her eyes glancing down towards his chest.

 Jamison tried to follow her gaze, but the blasted brace prevented him from moving his head at all. Frustration and fear bubbled up inside him, escaping his lips as a strained, indignant squawk, and he tensed all his muscles and shook, rattling the rig he was strapped to. He glared as Dr. Ziegler’s expression went from tired to exhausted, snapping his teeth at her when she moved to touch him again.

 “Please,” she entreated him, her tone just shy of pleading. “I know this must be frustrating for you, but we’re trying to save your life.”

 “You don’t even know the life you’re saving!” he barked back at her, his teeth bared menacingly. Frustration didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling. Anger and confusion was a good place to start. Fear, if you wanted to be precise. What was going to happen to him if they found out who he was? He was a Junker, he didn’t have proper papers or registration, that’s why Roadhog recruited him for his little heist. If Jamison got picked up, there wasn’t much the authorities could do with him, short of sending him back to Australia.

 He didn’t want to go back to Australia. Part of the reason he accepted Roadhog’s offer was that he was so desperate to get out. “What if I’m one of them terrorists you was all fighting against?”

 “Are you?” she asked, blurting the words out then covering her mouth with her hand. It was as if the idea that he might not be some innocent civilian never occurred to her. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or to cry, thinking about how he must look to her. He wasn’t much to begin with, just some scrappy kid who knew his way around an IED, and now what? She was putting him back together piece by piece, and she didn’t even know the whole picture.

 When Jamison failed to reply, the tension draining from his body as his eyes drifted guiltily towards the floor, Dr. Ziegler took a deep breath, relaxed her shoulders, then leaned forward, resting a hand on Jamison’s shoulder and giving him a warm, tired smile. “Even if you are, everyone deserves a second chance. You are young still; perhaps Overwatch can be your second chance.”

 Second chance, him? Roadhog was supposed to be his second chance, his one-way ticket out of Hell. Well, he’d really screwed the pooch on that one, so what was this bird doing, going around offering him second second chances? How many second chances did a bloke get before the universe gave up on him?

 “Starting to think I don’t have much choice in the matter, Sheila,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the floor. It wasn’t like he could put up much of a fight when he was strapped in so securely. Or when he didn’t have any limbs to fight with.

 Dr. Ziegler’s smile grew a little softer, and she exhaled a short little laugh, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry, you’ll be spoiled with choices once we’re able to keep your body from giving out on itself.”

“In the meantime, we simply _must_ perform this surgery.” Dr. Ziegler stood, gesturing to someone behind him, and Jamison heard the operating room come to life. “If we do not, you will never be able to live freely.”

 What a thought. Either become a machine, or he’d live his life connected to them. Neither option was particularly appealing.

 “What have you done to me?” he whispered, but Dr. Ziegler said nothing. Instead, his only answer was the sound of a bonesaw whirring to life right behind his head. Jamison’s heart rate spiked, every muscle in his body tensed, and he couldn’t even turn his head to look.

 “We’re beginning the initial incision,” a deep, male voice rumbled behind Jamison. “Don’t worry, we’ve applied a local anesthetic, so you shouldn’t feel any pain, but uh… Let us know if you lose feeling in… Well, let us know if you lose any feeling, if anything starts tingling, or if you lose your vision or your ability to hear.”

 “That’s not reassuring, mate!” Jamison whimpered, his voice quavering. If he had hands, he’d be gripping the arms of the rig hard enough to rip holes in the padding, but as it was, all he could do was sit there and tremble. At least his breathing remained steady, controlled by some unseen machine, but mentally, he was about ready to come apart at the seams.

 Dr. Zeigler tried to soothe him, murmuring something meant to be reassuring as she stroked his forehead, but the pitch of the buzzing changed, and even though all he could feel was a slight vibration at the back of his skull

 

he

 

        screamed.

 

He screamed as the saw cut through bone, screamed as doctors he couldn’t see popped the back of his head off, screamed no matter how tenderly Dr. Ziegler spoke to him, or how gently she stroked his forehead.

 He screamed until Genji burst into the room in bright orange scrubs and skidded to a halt right in front him, giving Jamison a pair of finger guns and an exaggerated wink.

 “I was hoping I could blow your mind tonight,” he crooned seductively, waggling his hips and his eyebrows, “but it looks like Angela already beat me to it.”

 When Jamison’s screaming turned into explosive swearing, a collective sigh of relief filled the room.

 “Mate,” he rasped, his voice coming out all staticy after all the screaming. Strangely, his throat didn’t hurt the way he thought it should. “Fuck me.”

 “I would need Angela’s permission before I did that,” Genji laughed, dropping down to his knees and folding his arms in Jamison’s lap. How he could laugh so easily when Jamison’s brains were exposed to the open air, he didn’t know, but Jamison could feel the tension starting to drain out of him, whether he wanted it to or not. 

“And you’ll not get it,” Dr. Ziegler huffed, giving Genji a light cuff upside the head. “The patient is in no condition to be engaging in strenuous activity, and that includes any of _your_ nonsense.”

 “Well, obviously not _now_ ,” Genji rolled his eyes, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue. “I can see his brains, gross.”

 “Not later, either. After this surgery, he will need to be monitored for a few days to ensure that none of his other organs start failing.”

 “Other organs?” Jamison cut in, feeling panic choke his throat once more. Just how much of him had they replaced?

 Genji and Dr. Ziegler exchanged tense looks, Genji biting his lip and frowning, and the doctor sucking in a breath with a grimace.

 “Let’s not worry about that right now, hm?” Dr. Ziegler gave Jamison a very pained smile, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “Why don’t we talk about something positive, ja? We measured your limbs for your prosthesis while you were unconscious, are there any features you’d like included?”

 Jamison did not want to brush this off, and he did not want to think about the machine parts they’d be strapping to what remained of his limbs, but he wasn’t stupid. They weren’t going to tell him anything, no matter how much he begged or pleaded. He could see it in the tightness of Dr. Ziegler’s smile and in the way Genji bounced excitedly in his lap.

 Out of one hell and into another, huh? He was never going to have any control over his own life at this rate.

 “Oh, oh, you could have knives hidden in your feet!” Genji chirped, grinning widely at the suggestion. “So that when you’re being attacked, you could kick them and shank them at the same time!”

 “Genji!” Dr. Ziegler scolded, giving Genji a little nudge. “Right now, our new friend counts as a civilian. He will not be getting any sort of combat features unless he decides to join Overwatch.”

 “Well obviously he’s going to be joining Overwatch,” Genji scoffed, turning a bright grin towards Jamison. “Right?”

 No, no, Jamison was not, but it was best if he cooperated for the moment. The Overwatch agency may be looked upon as heroes by most, but who knew what went on behind the scenes? Especially to people like him.

 “Can my new legs have springs in them?” he asked, giving Genji a weak smile, completely avoiding the question. “So that I can bounce REEEAAALLLY high on them?”

 That got a few laughs from the room, and Dr. Ziegler patted his shoulder gently. “We shall see about it. Do you have any other requests?”

 No, he just kind of pulled that one out of his ass because it sounded silly. But if they were going to take him seriously, he might as well go for it. “Can I have a hand that’s just made of tools? Instead of fingers, just have all kinds of tools. I’m a fair mechanic, you know.”

 “Oh really?” Genji asked, his eyes lit up and eyebrows raised in interest.

 Meanwhile, Dr. Ziegler rose to her feet, brushing her fingers over his shoulder as moved away, presumably to attend to one of the many machines that Jamison was hooked up to, or to assist the other doctors with the surgery. Genji remained, a steady, grounding weight in his lap, his bright smile demanding Jamison’s attention.

 “Oh, I’m hardly formally certified or anything like that, but I know my way around an engine,” Jamison explained, managing to wiggle his shoulders enough to shrug.

 “We’re going to be placing the neural net now,” said the deep voice from before, and Jamison tensed up until Genji pinched his thigh and stuck his tongue out to distract him. Immediately, Genji launched into a conversation about vehicles, asking about everything from Jamison’s favorite kind of car, to whether cars or motorcycles were better, and what was the best way to make a car go faster than industry standards. With Genji asking so many questions, it was hard to focus on what was being done to him, so even if he didn’t exactly relax, he didn’t have a panic attack every time something happened.

 Eventually, Genji’s questions evolved into a story about the time Genji’s older brother, Hanzo, was goaded into a race by some teenagers, got chased by the police, and ended up crashing his car into a cherry tree.

 “Is Hanzo a part of Overwatch too?” Jamison asked, not really interested in the answer, but it would be good to know if there was another loud, brightly colored ninja he should be avoiding.

 “No, he’s back home in Hanamura, taking care of the family business,” Genji replied, his voice going wistful and smile growing sad. He turned his head to the side, pointing to where he was missing his left ear, something Jamison hadn’t noticed until then. “The clan elders felt I was a disgrace to the family name, so they told him to either bring me under control, or to deal with me once and for all.”

 He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “I really thought he was going to kill me that night, you know. I think he certainly meant to. But in the end, he couldn’t do it, so he took my ear as proof of my demise and told me to run.”

 “I ran here,” Genji shrugged. “I don’t know if the elders accepted the ear as proof, but no one has come after me to claim my life or drag me back to Hanamura, so I do not worry about it.”

 “And there are lots of pretty girls like Angela here, so what more could a boy ask for?” Genji asked, laughing as he blew a kiss over Jamison’s shoulder at the doctor, and he heard her giggle quietly.

 Food. Freedom. A sense of control and stability. Not having bits of metal shoved into your body because your organs kept failing on you. Jamison could think of a lot of things.

 Instead of mentioning any of that, Jamison forced a laugh and said, “Hey, don’t flirt with my doctor while she’s elbow deep in my brain! What she slips and turns me into a zombie? I’ll eat your brains first, mate, they’re probably just big enough for an appetizer anyway.”

 “Hey!”

 Bantering with Genji helped the rest of the surgery pass quickly, then they wheeled him to the recovery ward, where he was to remain awake for the next 24 hours just in case something went wrong. Genji stayed with him the entire time, and they did everything from play video games to watching anime.

 Well, Genji did everything, Jamison mostly just watched and faked a smile whenever Genji tried interacting with him. Time passed in fits and spurts. Sometimes, Jamison zoned out enough that a whole hour passed without him noticing. Sometimes, he’d listen to Genji talk for hours, then glance at the clock to find only minutes had passed.

 When they finally let him sleep again, he wondered how long it would be until he awoke again, and what parts of him would be missing this time.


End file.
